Viktor
Iam not a man who is often unsure.
I’ve always prided myself on being a decisive man, a man who knows what he wants. One who rules strictly and sternly, who doesn’t falter. But in this, I am, for the first time, unsure.
My first marriage was one of love—of passion, even. It doesn’t often happen in circles like ours. Vera was beautiful, elegant, with a pedigree and a trust fund to match, and highly sought after. It was luck, even fate, I once believed, that had led us to each other. There was no fighting, no tears, no bargaining for her hand, except in terms of what her father wanted for the marriage. She wanted me, and I wanted her, and we barely made it to our wedding night with her still a virgin. As it was, by the time it arrived, she was only a virgin in the strictest sense.
We were crazy for each other, and though that love changed over time, became something darker and more twisted, I still believe it was love—or all I’ve ever known of it. With Vera, there was no question of how the wedding night would go.
But with Caterina, I’m not entirely certain how to proceed. This marriage is a business transaction, but I can’t deny that I want her. I’d already known she was beautiful, but in lace and satin, walking down the aisle towards me, she was a vision. On the dance floor, with her waist in my hands and the scent of her perfume in my nostrils, I felt a desire that I hadn’t felt in years.
She’s no virgin. She knows what will happen. But what I can’t decide is how to go about it. Should it be cold and unfeeling, businesslike? Or should I try to seduce her, to bring her pleasure so that tonight isn’t only about the consummation of a contract? I don’t want to mislead her, to make her think that this marriage will be anything but one of convenience.
My desire for her, on the other hand, is making it veryinconvenient.It would be much easier if I could simply order her to the bed, unzip, and quickly consummate our marriage. But I want more. I want to savor my prize. I want to enjoy her.
I plan to enjoy her many more times over the coming weeks and months until she gives me my heir. And if I can make it pleasurable for her, perhaps that will be easier.
I don’t want to frighten my new bride. But if there’s one lesson I learned at a young age, it’s that in this life, emotion means death. Coldness, cruelty, harshness, those are the things that earn you respect, even the fear of others, when respect can’t be found. Those are the things that keep you alive. To be soft, in our world, is to die.
Caterina should know that. She was raised in this life, after all. But then again, so was Vera. And she couldn’t handle my coldness, what she called myimplacability,myemotionlessness. It drove her over the edge until there was nothing left for her. Her inability to handle the harshness of my—ofour—life, cost her hers.
I don’t want that for Caterina. And as I walk into the bedroom with a drink for each of us and see her standing on the balcony, a cold chill runs down my spine. I imagine her looking down, thinking of throwing herself off, ending this before it begins.
I would like to think that marriage to me isn’t a fate worse than death, but I know not everyone would agree.
“Caterina,” I call out her name, sternly but not harshly. Loud enough for it to carry but not to sound angry. “Come inside, please.”
I see her stiffen, her back straightening as if she’s steeling herself for what lies ahead. And then she slowly turns, her chin raised regally as she walks back inside towards me, closing the French doors behind her.
She truly is a vision in her wedding gown, a mafia princess in every sense of the word. Strong, beautiful, brave. She’s a match for me in every way.
It’s a shame I no longer want a partner. Only a means to an end.
“I made you a drink.” I extend the cut crystal glass to her. “Vodka soda and lime. I can make you something else if you like.”
“No, this is fine.” Her words are cool and clipped, and I can tell that she’s holding back. I don’t know what, exactly—anger, desire, fear—and I don’t intend to ask. She can feel however she likes; the night will proceed. And if it goes well, it will be good for both of us.
If not—
Well, I’ve done more distasteful things than claiming a beautiful woman on our wedding night, regardless of her feelings on the matter.
I take a deep slug of my drink as she sips hers and then set it aside, motioning for her to turn. “I’ll undo your buttons.”
“There’s a lot of them.” She turns obediently, though, and I can see that she’s telling the truth. They run from the nape of her neck down to the hem of her gown, and though I only need to unbutton them partway, it’s still daunting. Women’s clothes have always been a mystery to me.
Gently, I brush the hair away from the nape of her neck, and I feel her tense under my touch. Her hand goes very still, the glass halfway to her lips, and then she takes a sip, swallowing convulsively as I undo the first button.
And then the second. And the third. The fourth.
I slide my finger down her spine, tracing the line of her skin as I slip another loose and another. The time it takes to undress her feels somehow erotic, something I hadn’t expected. I’ve barely touched her, and I can feel my cock starting to stiffen with the anticipation of what comes next, like unwrapping a gift at Christmas. A feeling I haven’t had in a long time.
A feeling that could be dangerous if left unchecked.
I have the sudden urge to rip the dress open, to send the buttons flying, tearing the lace down to the small of her back and stripping it off of her. But instead, I keep slipping the buttons loose, tracing my fingers down her back until I’ve nearly gotten them undone down to the base of her spine.
And then, without thinking, I give in to the sudden urge to lean forward and press my lips to her skin, between her shoulder blades, breathing in the scent of her perfume. She feels soft beneath my lips, and I think of what she’ll feel like lower down, the softness of her pussy, the taste of her—
“You said we weren’t going to pretend.” Caterina’s voice is sharp, her back tensing under my touch. “You don’t have to pretend to be romantic.”